So this is Xmas
by Kefalion
Summary: Being Muggle-born wasn't easy before the Ministry was taken over by Voldemort. With Voldemort ruling from the shadows, it wasn't only difficult, but outright deadly.


This story was written for the **Eleventh Round** of the Fourth Season of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition. I'm writing as **Beater 1** for **The Wimbourne Wasps**.

Name of round: **I Open At The Close**

 _Remember when I asked you to put together some prompts for your opposition a few weeks ago? Well this is the round where we'll use them, but there's a small twist… of course. The prompts you submitted aren't going to be written by your opponents, they're going to be written by you! That's right, we're turning your prompts back on you._

 _And that's not all: your story MUST also start and finish with the same word._

*Sigh* I joked about being given our own prompts and, of course, it happens. At least I don't hate what I came up with.

My prompt is a **setting** , more specifically **The Mudblood Relocation Camp, also known as Welsh Campsite 1234 000987**

And these are the two prompts I'm using to block our opponents, the Puddlemere United:

5\. (word) coffee  
15\. (word) shatter

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own any part of the world J.K. Rowling has created; it's all hers, from Diagon Alley to Hogwarts to all the people living there.

 **Warning:** Torture, character death (executions), concentration camp reference.

A very big thank you goes to my out of team-beta, Paperclippe. You're amazing and I can't tell you that enough. Thanks also go to my lovely team-members who helped me out despite the fact that I handed in on extension and therefore forced them to look at this when they had better things to do. This is why we Wasps have been doing so well. We look out for each other. Thank you! Buzz, buzz!

 **PS.** Word-count provided by MS Word—

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 **So this is Xmas  
** _Words: 2 995_

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 _Colin,  
The Ministry has been taken over. I don't think it will be safe for you and your brother to return to Hogwarts in September. My father told me that I should tell you to go into hiding. Take your entire family and leave England if you can. I know you want to fight, but it isn't safe. Not now. I'll try to keep you informed of what's going on and let you know if there's anything you can do to help._

 _Stay safe,  
_ _Ginny_

Colin refolded the letter and put it back in his pocket. He wished he'd been able to read it sooner. Ginny's warning had come too late. They had not had the time to act on it. Colin hadn't done more than untie the letter from the delivery owl's leg when the doorbell rang. Outside two wizards had waited to take him and Dennis, his younger brother, to the Ministry. They'd been put through a parody of an interrogation, headed by Dolores Umbridge. Colin had foolishly screamed at her, incapable of helping himself when not only she slandered all Muggle-borns, but called Harry Potter a dangerous and delusional delinquent as well. They'd been accused of stealing their magic from real wizards, and then they'd been sent to a camp for Muggle-borns—or, as the guards called it, The Mudblood Relocation Camp. They had no idea where the camp was located. The muddy ground and few shrubby trees within the walled enclosure didn't provide many clues.

All Colin and Dennis knew was that they were stuck in the camp with no way of escaping: they had no wands; the barracks were perpetually cold because of the thin walls; they only had a couple of blankets each to sleep on; the food was barely worth the name; and every day, more downtrodden Muggle-borns arrived.

The first month they worked hard from dawn till dusk, expanding the enclosure and raising more buildings. It gave them little time to think; exhaustion was all they knew. Eventually, however, there was no work left to do, and they were left with idleness. As days passed with nothing to do, discontent brewed among them and thoughts of rebellion stirred. They didn't have to accept what was happening. They could fight back.

They were wrong.

It only took one rebellion to discourage them from further attempts. Public execution is a very effective deterrent—so is torture. Colin had experienced the latter himself; he'd been punished because he'd been one of the most eager to fight back. His spirit had taken a turn, mainly because Dennis had cried that night, begging him not to die, to please not agitate them into killing him. Colin had kept his head down since, avoiding punishment as best he could, succeeding only because he didn't want Dennis to be left without him.

A group of them were sitting around one of the bonfires that littered the camp, trying to get as much warmth from the flames as possible, even as a light rain hung in the air.

"I could kill for a cup of coffee," said Ricky Cresswell, taking a sip of a draught made with pine needles and warm water—it was all they had. The Ministry people didn't have so much as a tea leaf to spare for them. Ricky poured the contents of his mug on the ground as it failed to live up to his expectations.

"If that's what you'd kill for you need to straighten out your priorities," said Michael Wu, curling his lip.

"But coffee, Michael! Hot, aromatic, freshly brewed coffee that plays a symphony on your palate and sharpens your mind."

"The only thing I'd kill for is to see my daughters and my wife again," said Michael. "They're in the Witches' Camp, and I have no idea how they're doing. They might not even be alive."

"Mate, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to-"

"I know."

"Your daughters too?"

"Having two Muggle-born parents is as bad as being Muggle-born in the eyes of these supremacist swines. So yes, my daughters too." He let out a small humourless laugh that might have been a sob. "They're only seven and three years old. They shouldn't have to go through this."

They all sat in silence for a bit, but Ricky couldn't let the sombre mood persist. "Merlin, I want a cup of coffee," he said. "Do you think they'll grant us a last wish before killing us? If they do, mine'll be to drink a gallon of coffee."

"We don't know for sure that they plan to kill us," said Colin.

"We can hope not," said Michael. "I really hope not. Maybe they'll keep us around for labour."

"Why would they want to keep us around?" asked Ricky. "They'd never dare give us back our wands, and without magic we're useless to them. I don't know why they didn't execute us on the spot. Maybe they're keeping us alive so that they can kill us off later for sport. Seems like something these assholes might enjoy. You know, we're just animals to them, and that's the best we can hope to be treated as—lambs to the slaughter. It's only a matter of time."

"They won't win," said Dennis. "You-Know-Who won't win. Harry Potter will stop him."

The small group of people around the fire looked to see if there were any guards nearby. Luckily, the closest ones were engaged in their own conversation and had not heard the name of 'Undesirable No 1' being uttered.

"You shouldn't talk so loudly about that, son," said Ricky. "I don't blame you for hoping. I want to hope myself; we all do, but if your friend doesn't put an end to things soon, I'm thinking that it'll be too late for us."

"Then we shouldn't wait!" whispered Colin. "We should try to get out of here."

"We can't," said Dennis, twisting to look at Colin. His face had grown white and his eyes large. "Don't you remember what happened the last time we tried? Phil Robertson and Nicholas Palmer are dead, and John Andrews is as good as, after how long he was held under the Cruciatus Curse. Your hands still shake sometimes. I don't want you to die. Please don't make them kill you."

"Dennis."

"Please, Colin!"

Colin closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose, and then began to speak with a clenched jaw: "We can't fight because if we fight, we die, and we can't wait around because if we do they'll kill us anyway. Please, tell me what I'm supposed to do!"

"Believe in Harry," Dennis whispered. "You always did before. He'll fix things in time."

Colin shook his head. "Of course I believe in him, but he taught us to fight. It's not fair that it should all be on him. We can do something for ourselves. If our alternatives are: wait for death or die fighting, I want to fight. There must be _something_ we can do."

After a prolonged silence, Ricky spoke. "I might have an idea," he said. "You know I worked as a Curse Breaker for Gringotts for a while. If my idea works, the wards will shatter. Once the wards are gone, escaping should be easy."

"Your definition of easy is as exaggerated as your obsession with coffee," said Michael, "but I'm willing to listen."

Colin and Dennis nodded, one more eagerly than the other, but it affirmed that they were listening too.

Ricky looked around. The two guards who had been conversing previously had moved, one having come nearer, and Ricky lowered his voice to a whisper. "Alright, this is what we'll do-"

 **o-o-O-o-o**

They wanted to liberate the entire camp. It meant everyone had to be on board, but not everyone was thrilled about the risks. Fights had broken out when the consequences of failure were discussed. How many of them would die if the escape failed? How many would die during the attempt even if it went well? And how many would die on the run, unable to survive in the wilderness while trying to stay away from snatchers? If they tried to escape they were risking a lot, but most of them were willing to try, and the majority got to rule.

They had decided to use the strength they had in numbers. The guards had wands, but there weren't that many of them. For every guard there were at least four Muggle-borns. Those were odds they could risk. Using surprise they could overpower their jailers and gain enough time to break the wards—or so Ricky assured.

The problem was that an attack would leave the Muggle-born witches vulnerable. The plan required everyone to act together, but the witches were held separately and didn't know what was planned. They spent a lot of precious time thinking about how to contact the women, but nothing seemed viable. Michael was especially adamant that they not risk the safety of the women, and no one wanted to do it, if it could be avoided.

And then their hand was forced. The situation in the Relocation Camp worsened drastically when known Death Eaters joined the guard ranks. Dolohov, Travers and the Lestrange brothers began to show up regularly. They used violence indiscriminately. No one was safe anymore. Punishment was routine and was delivered without cause. The children were not spared either; if anything, they were singled out. An eleven year old boy had to be euthanized after he'd been left to die from the effects of an Entrail-Expelling curse, and they decided that enough was enough. They would have to take their chances.

 **o-o-O-o-o**

Colin kept his eyes on Ricky's hands, waiting for the signal. Any moment now it would come, and all hell would break lose. Adrenaline was rushing through his body. Dennis and everyone else under the age of fifteen were inside of the barracks, hopefully out of harm's way. It wasn't a perfect plan, but then again, they'd given up on perfect.

There was the signal.

They moved as one. Michael got his hands round the neck of their targeted guard, while Colin held on to the guard's arms, keeping his movement minimal. The guard's screams were muffled, and soon he'd passed out from the lack of air.

All around them, similar scenes played out, most going smoothly. Soon all the guards who'd been out in the open had been neutralized, and the Muggle-borns only had a few bruises to show for it.

"Two wands," said Michael, indicating two sticks that were tucked into the belt of 'their' guard. "Bastard. One probably belonged to one of us. Maybe we'll be able to get our own wands back. For now, just grab one."

Colin took one of the wands. It was long and pale and didn't feel nearly as good as his own wand had used to, but he sensed that there might be some kind of agreement between them. He would be able to use it.

"Stupefy," he intoned, casting the stunning spell at the wand's previous owner. A wave of red light shot out at his command, assuring that the guard would not wake up and cause them further difficulties.

Michael nodded to him, and they went to find Ricky.

"This went better than expected," Ricky said.

"Don't jinx it," said Michael.

"Don't be such a Muggle."

"Shut up."

Both wizards grinned.

"Go rescue your wife and kids, mate. I'll take care of the wards."

"Right. Everyone!" called Michael, beckoning the attention of the assembled Muggle-born wizards. "The first step went well, but there are still more guards in the camp. We need to change that. Everyone with a wand, follow me!"

Ricky held up Colin to stop him from following. "I could use a bit of help with the wards, if you're up for it."

"Alright."

The two of them hurried to the ward-line. For the first time in he didn't know how long, Colin could see something that wasn't the wall of planks surrounding the Wizards' Camp. He saw grey-green hills and a lake in the distance. Freedom was so close he could taste it.

"Here we are," said Ricky. He poked at the air with a wand. "Let's see what I can do about this." He muttered a spell and the wards became visible. A dome, poisonous green, flared to life, showing where the wards were. "It's as I thought. Ward stones have been used. They'll be evenly spaced along the perimeter. You should be able to pick them up. I'll take one side, you take the other."

Colin nodded and did as asked. He ran along the ward, eyes on the ground. He saw a black stone on the ground, clearly not naturally occurring, and bent to pick it up. As he bent down, a spell flew over his head.

He looked up and saw Rabastan Lestrange.

"You thought you could escape, little Mudblood? We've known what you were planning for weeks. Now it ends. Though I think I want to watch your brother die before I kill you. Crucio!"

Colin tried to dodge, but Rabastan had aimed in preparation. The Torture Curse hit him, and he fell to the ground, a scream tearing through his throat as the pain set all of his nerves aflame.

He must have blacked out, because the next thing he knew, he was on the ground near unfamiliar barracks—the Witches' Camp. He felt stiff, and when he tried to move, a spasm made his arm twitch. Dennis grabbed it, and, feeling his brother near, relief flooded through him, but it was short lived.

On a raised platform he saw Michael, a redheaded woman and two small girls who must have been their children. They were on their knees. The Lestrange brothers, Travers and Dolohov, stood behind them.

"Death awaits all who defy the Dark Lord!" screamed Rodolphus. As one, the four Death Eaters cried the words of the Killing Curse and the family of four died in a flash of green.

Colin knew when Dennis started to cry; he could feel the sobs racking his brother's body. Colin felt like crying too. It was all over. There was no escape now. They had failed.

Colin looked around. Men, women and children were gathered around him. By the platform dead bodies were piled. He turned his eyes to the sky. It was white, and as he watched, snow began to fall.

"Who's next?" said Dolohov.

"Stupefy!" a voice called. Red light hit Dolohov in the back and he fell of the platform, unconscious. Ricky had appeared. "How about you?" he said and sent another spell at the Death Eaters who couldn't answer.

Before he could think about what he was doing, Colin was up and moving. He got up on the platform and tackled Rabastan Lestrange. Biting the Death Eater's hand, Colin got Rabastan to let go of his wand, which Colin took and used to help Ricky.

Other Muggle-borns followed, attacking the guards who were once again conscious. An old man who'd given Dennis one of his blankets was hit by a blasting curse. A girl Colin recognized from school was being attacked by conjured snakes. All around Muggle-borns were killed and maimed. Some guards were overpowered. Wands switched sides and more spells flew through the air.

"To the wards!" screamed Ricky. Some people heard him and followed the order, moving towards the wards. Colin found Dennis, and they ran. They didn't know what Ricky had planned, but they had to trust him.

A witch was the first to reach the wards. She ran into the invisible shield, and screamed as it electrocuted her.

Colin kept Dennis behind him and defended them as best he could with Rabastan's wand.

Then Ricky was there, breaking the wards. They became visible once more, flaring green.

"I'll only be able to buy you a moment!" screamed Ricky. "Don't hesitate!" He muttered a spell, and Colin watched, horrified, as blood began to pour out of Ricky's mouth. Ricky touched his hands to the wards, and they cracked, shattering like glass.

Muggle-borns fled through the opening.

"Go!" Ricky said again.

"But-"

"I'm dead anyway." He coughed, more blood dripping down his chin. "Go!"

Dennis took Colin's hand and dragged him out through the cracked wards. As soon as they were through, the wards surged back. On the other side, Ricky lay dead on the ground; behind him, Rabastan stood with a raised wand.

He approached the wards, but they repelled him. "Filthy, meddlesome goblin-lover!" He snarled, and kicked Ricky's body before looking at Colin again. "I'll kill you, little Mudblood," he said. "I swear it."

"Not today," replied Colin. He turned away, and left with his brother.

 **o-o-O-o-o**

Colin and Dennis walked down the familiar street toward their home. They'd taken two trains and four busses to get there, all the while tense as they faced the threat of being thrown off for not having tickets. That was over now. Home was only paces away. There were lights on inside, and a Christmas wreath was hanging on the door. Their father's milk lorry was in the drive.

"They're home," he said.

"Maybe," said Dennis. "We don't-"

"They're home," Colin repeated.

They walked up the short path to the door, making fresh footprints in the snow.

They didn't have a key. With a steady hand Colin rang the doorbell and listened for footsteps in the hallway. They came, the gait familiar.

Their mother opened the door. Her face was thinner than it had been in the summer, and her hair was greyer.

At the sight of them, she shouted wordlessly and her legs folded under her. From her knees she opened up her arms, inviting them into a hug which they hurried to accept. They clung to each other. "Dennis," she said with tears filling her eyes. "Colin. My boys. My precious boys."

"Merry Christmas, Mum," whispered Colin.

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 **The End**

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 **A/N 6th September 2016**

The Mudblood relocation camp was only ever seen in the films, and only in a pamphlet at the Ministry, but the bleakness of it appealed to me when looking for settings and I think it worked out pretty well.

It is not known what happened to Colin and Dennis in 97-98 so this is my interpretation.

Ricky Creswell, is an OC, a brother to Dirk Cresswell who is a real character from the 7th HP-novel (He was the chief of the Goblin-liaisons office, that his brother would work with Goblins too I felt was appropriate). I went with the name Ricky because the man playing Dirk Creswell's name is Ricky Wilson.

Michael Wu and his family likewise are OCs.

The title of the story is borrowed from John Lennon's song with the same name – _So this is Xmas (War is over)._

I hope this story touched you in some way - please let me know what you thought!


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